


4 Souls

by NoMore_17



Category: Souls Know, 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV), 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Looking for the lost piece of your soul, Love always finds a way, M/M, Memories of Past Life, Recovered Memories, SoulsKnow, Supporting brother Lan XiChen, This is just the whole WangXian's fic series in one place, WangXian meets SoulsKnow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:20:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMore_17/pseuds/NoMore_17
Summary: Go back to Gusu, guys.Together.Go home.It's the right time.Or:Four Souls living the same story. Four different POVs. Four lives intertwined.
Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn
Kudos: 7





	1. 1. ME (Home)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Italiano available: [Quattro Anime (4 Souls)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29985213) by [NoMore_17](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoMore_17/pseuds/NoMore_17)



> 2nd of March, 2020
> 
> Something happened on the other side of the world.
> 
> I remember precisely where I was. I remember what I was doing. I remember exactly how I felt. And all I did manage to do was to cry.  
> And I cried a lot.  
> Speechless. Helpless. Angry.  
> Hurt. 
> 
> Then pandemic broke in. My flight was cancelled.  
> Then all flights were cancelled.  
> And then was me, left with my long black coat, my noisy heel boots and all my life carried by an ugly emerald green bag.  
> I left.
> 
> Images started to pop in my head while I was driving away...  
> Writing "Home" has been my way to cope with all that sh*t.  
> It was my first attempt at writing WangXian. I posted it in the night, back then.  
> But it wasn't enough.  
> I was hooked by my own fic, and I wrote more.
> 
> Switching from different angles, I told the same story four times.
> 
> Now, a whole year later, I decided to put them together in one single fic.  
> Four parts, ten chapters, and two appendixes to keep them together.
> 
> Somewhere in between, a beautiful angel came through and has edited entire chapters. Thank you, @yakkorat, for your support and your hard, late-night work.

The airport is pretty desert.

Few... a very few people wander slightly disoriented between the waiting rooms and the gates open for boarding.

Home.

I can't think of anything else.

I want to go _home_.

I still feel all the resentment, all the hatred of the people who hunt me.

I need to get away from all this shit. At least for a while. To drive out all the negativity that is slowly and relentlessly consuming my soul.

I wonder, if my father was still alive, what he would think of all of this. In moments like this, I miss him more than anything.

 _Home_. I want to go home.

There is only one place where I feel at home, even though technically it is not my house. It's a place where there is always the sun, surrounded by the scent of fresh grass. The sound of water mixing with birdsong.

My safe haven. Where I can freely think, dream, read, draw, listen to music, and play.

Who knows why I can do these simple things only when I'm alone. As if only in seclusion can I indeed be myself.

Myself.

But after all, who am I?

Sometimes I seem to be a wandering soul, an occasional inhabitant of this body that takes me around the world.

Aimlessly.

The loudspeaker announces a canceled flight. Another one. What's going on these days? People seem to have gone mad.

I check my flight. It seems to be on time. Good.

I look around. The leather sofas in the C area are unusually empty. There are so few people that it's almost scary.

It is surreal.

Even the grand piano that stands in the corner of the room is free.

I like this new thing that there is a piano at every airport, at every station, made available to travelers who want to play music. And share emotions that only music can bring out.

Who knows, maybe I could...

I have never played in public. I'm not a pianist. I remember the piano lessons as a child; they were like torture.

But the piano has always been in my life. And music as well.

Lately, in a more... how to say... intense way.

Slowly I head towards the splendid Steinway, which winks at me from the opposite side of the departure lounge.

My pace is long and steady. So slow that I seem to be moving on an air-cushion.

The heels of the black boots I wear resonate with the polished marble.

Toc. Pause. Toc. Pause. Toc. Pause.

The black leather coat that goes down to my feet moves like a cloak from the old days.

A couple of heads turn to look at me. I'm used to it; I don't care. Maybe it's the cloak effect...

Who knows how it came to me to buy this coat.

There are many strange things I have been doing impulsively recently, aside from buying me a coat that seems to have come straight from the Matrix set.

I bought a dizi on Amazon. Bamboo black, glossy. It also has a scarlet red tassel attached to one end.

I played the flute in elementary school, but a dizi... And yet, I couldn't resist. Something pushed me to buy it, and less than twenty-four hours later, it was in my hands. Beautiful.

Maybe it's all because of this music I've had in my head for days. No... it has been weeks, maybe months...

A melody accompanying everything I do. It echoes from afar... Day and night.

Sometimes it is heart-warming, sometimes it is gut-wrenching.

It's overwhelming, but I still haven't figured out if it's more joy or pain.

There is something; I can sense it... something I should have. _Someone_ I should have. Yet I haven't.

I look at the polished mahogany in front of me. Slowly I put my baggage on the ground.

I pause for a moment to realize that my whole life is in there. All I ever need is packed in a small carry-on bag. A laptop out of memory, an iPad with all my ebooks, some sketchpads, a couple of diaries where I try to write what appears behind my closed eyes, what I dream of, or what I imagine, or maybe they are memories?

Of what, though?

Maybe one day I'll write a book, who knows...

Anyway, these are the only things in this small green cabin bag, with some underwear, a change of clothes, and nothing more.

I'm a light traveler; I don't need anything more. The cell phone is around my neck, hung with the silver cord of these new trendy covers. I also have a spare. The cord, of course, strictly black.

I think that if the world ends, I have everything I need with me.

To leave.

Or to start all over again.

I have to lower the piano bench; I'm definitely taller than the last occupant. I push my coat back and sit down.

Instinctively I bring my hair back and do the messy half-tail that I always wear; I wrap the usual black scrunchie three times.

It is the soft scrunchie I keep on my wrist when I'm not using it, to which, out of instinct, I tied a red ribbon that I found abandoned in a drawer a few weeks ago. Before feeling overwhelmed by the negativity that seemed to have stung me as suddenly as unexpectedly. A piece of red cloth that appeared to have given me some bravery to face the world. A light sparkle of color hanging fluttering from that messy bun my hair is at the nape of my neck.

I inhale deeply and place my hands on the piano.

Ebony and ivory are cold to the touch yet inviting.

Almost hesitantly, I let the music flow directly from my soul.

♪ E ... ♪ C, A, B, G, E ... ♪

I close my eyes. It's as if my fingers have a life of their own. They fly on the keyboard like they never did.

And I feel something.

Something that rises from the deep.

It's _energy_. As if it was a tangible thing, a heat, a _light_ perhaps. It rises from inside and spreads outside.

Like a wave that surrounds me, that wraps everything.

I read somewhere about _spiritual energy_. Actually, I have read so many things recently... My iPad says that in two months, I've read seventy books, basically my yearly goal... But what is a reading goal? I just read.

I read, and everything brings me back to the same point. Like I'm dancing around something. Something I don't understand.

I know that somewhere there are all the answers, they are close, I can almost take them... but they escape me like a whisper I can't catch.

♪ A ... ♪ B, C, D, G, A ... ♪

My throat closes up; I can hardly breathe as the music continues to flow. As the _energy_ continues to flow.

I feel the tears, but I don't open my eyes. I won't let them out. Like I never let anything out.

Familiar yet unknown images appear behind my closed eyelids. It's as if someone were saying to me, _"Go home. It's time."_

My stomach tightens; something pushes me to open my eyes; they have been closed on the world for too long.

In front of me, there is the window of the VIP room. And, reflected in the glass, a guy.

Even if the reflected image is not sharp enough, it is clear that he is breathtakingly beautiful... the flawless face, the porcelain skin, the black hair styled in an elaborate bun.

The image flickers for a moment and reveals other details. He wears a kind of snow-white coat that touches the ground. A white ribbon is wrapped around his forehead.

I blink at the bizarre vision, and the guy in the glass is gone.

But I sense his presence behind me. I feel his eyes on me. Like a caress, something _physical_.

I try to compose myself and get up. I take back my luggage and slowly, very slowly, turn around. And the guy is still there.

No white coat, no sophisticated hairstyle either: he's wearing a military-green jacket on a pair of soft jeans. His hair is just a little long on the shoulders and shorter on the front side... no forehead ribbon.

He's something familiar; perhaps he is an actor or a singer. Or a sportsman. I know I've seen him somewhere before, but I can't remember where.

Again that feeling of some memory that runs away like sand through my fingers...

He has his eyes fixed on the piano as if he was still enraptured by the music I played until a moment ago.

If he asks me what it was, what do I answer? _I have it in my head, but I have no idea what it is?_

The thought of disappointing this wonderful stranger annoys me, and I almost hope that he doesn't ask me anything, that he doesn't even speak to me, for that matter.

His eyes move into mine. And I am mesmerized.

The intensity of the gaze blocks me on the ground. I don't think I would be able to move even if I wanted to. He seems to be stunned, although his face is absolutely still, emotionless... a wonderful statue of pure jade.

As if in a trance, I sketch a smile, or at least my brain commands some movement of my face that I have no idea what it resulted in. But the intention was to smile. A crooked smile, perhaps bewildered, but still a smile.

His mouth moves imperceptibly; the movement is so tiny that I wonder if it is not just on my imagination.

I don't know how long it's been. A remote corner of my mind wonders if I haven't missed the plane.

 _Home_ , I think. I have to go home.

I try to compose myself; I have to pass near him to reach my gate. I lower my eyes and move.

Out of my sight, I feel him grabbing my arm.

I stop.

I turn around.

His left hand is on the black skin of the sleeve of my coat. He squeezes my forearm firmly... a gentle but persistent hold.

His eyes have not moved an inch.

Out of instinct, I grab his wrist with my free hand.

I don't wear gloves. It's skin against skin.

It is like getting a shock.

What was that _energy_ thing like? I can feel it all now. As if he had breached my being and the Universe had responded.

It's as if each piece fell finally into place. Who I am, why am I here, where am I going... Nothing matters anymore, all the hatred of the last few days, the people who want me dead, those who, once friends, turned against me. Nothing matters anymore...

 _Who are you_ should be the most natural question in the world, and instead, it doesn't even come to my mind. As if my soul knows _exactly_ who he is. Knowing that this beautiful guy is already part of my life, the _real_ one. Waiting for him. For so long...

Neither of us says a word for several minutes. At the same time, our eyes seem lost in a silent conversation of their own.

He is the first one to break the silence.

His voice is warm, so deep that it shakes me to the core.

"Wei Ying."

Two syllables.

A name.

 _My name_.

I'm home.


	2. 2. YOU (Find him)

You are in a hurry...

...as per usual.

You are always, non-stop, running, chasing something. Or rather, _someone_.

A spasmodic, intense search...

You have to find him. Before it's too late.

_Too late..._

But what for?

You don't know. You don't even know who or what exactly you are looking for.

Lately, you've been on pins and needles more than usual. Feeling that something is going to happen. You know it. You can _sense_ it.

Yeah, but what? _Definitely going out of your mind_ , perhaps.

Your brother is the only one who seems to understand your madness or at least to accept. Even if he's worried about you, he doesn't ask a question. Taking what you are willing to share without pushing.

The truth is, he can see right through you without you being able to stop him. Not that you really want to stop him from doing that. You love him, as he loves you. He's a significant part of your mind-blowing and extravagant life.

He is everything you are not. Although so similar in appearance, there could not be two more different people. Brother is sociable, open, kind. With an intense social life, beloved, respected by everyone as much as you are feared.

People are intimidated by you... Maybe because of your severe and solemn appearance, or perhaps because of your icy eyes. It doesn't matter if they don't _know_ you; simply, they avoid interacting with you as far as possible.

In their eyes, you are distant, unapproachable.

Well, you don't like interacting with them, so it's okay.

You've proven your worth in the field. So many fields, indeed.

You might be not a man of many words, but you are surely a man of action.

And you are successful at everything you do. Singer, racer, actor... there are very few things you can't do. Always on top.

All that, however, would not be possible without Brother. He eases your way through people; he understands every need of yours and every discomfort even without you having to voice them.

He supports you. Always. Whatever you do.

Brother, friend, ally... It's thanks to him if you haven't gone crazy in all these years. Not yet, at least.

He never judged you. He never judged your obsession: looking for something that you can't even explain to yourself... in search of the missing piece of your soul.

He is there.

Always.

Silently by your side. Until the end. Whatever happens, wherever this madness leads you.

He simply smiles at you and says, _"Find it."_

Like this morning, when he offered to take you to the airport, but you preferred to come by yourself with your motorbike.

You have to leave it in the secure parking area until someone from your staff is sent to collect it. Then wondering where the hell they will send it to you next time. Yes... because you never know exactly where you're going.

 _Play it by ear_ , you call it.

You have a feeling, a vision, and you launch yourself, heart and soul, towards your next destination. That will be the next clue, to another, and yet another.

Signs that take you around the world to the most unimaginable, sometimes remote, places.

How does your brother find the right event, the right invitation every time, remains a mystery. A photoshoot, a competition, a concert... there is always a way to be in such a place at the right time.

Nobody ever wonders how you appear on such short notice from one end of the planet to the other.

You collect the _crumbs_ that a mischievous _Little Thumb_ leaves behind, trying not to miss even one.

You have been doing this all your life. You are going around the planet as if it was the most natural thing to do. You have enough energy to not suffer from long haul flights, jet lag, climatic changes, or whatever.

You took part in a race out of Moto GP on a circuit in a place whose name you can't even pronounce, fourteen hours by plane far away from where you were at that moment, without batting an eyelid. Your brother has moved heaven and earth to bring the organization to give a _wild card_ to you. But it was crucial that you went to that wasteland in the middle of nowhere.

 _Crucial_. So you told your brother. It's always like that for you. Each time it is as if this makes the difference between life and death.

_Find him._

Who knows, maybe it really is. Who knows what would happen if you ever really stopped. It almost seems that your spasmodic search is the only thing that keeps you alive.

Nothing else matters. Everyone sees you as a cold man from whom no emotion shines through. You have no friends, no relationship. Never had, actually.

The only form of excitement, almost feverish, is due to the discovery of a new clue, a new sign pointing in some new direction.

Where the evidence of this _feverish excitement_ is given by an imperceptible arching of an eyebrow... Followed by an even more imperceptible movement of your mouth, which tries to pull itself up, almost begging to become at least a half-grin.

Basically, no one notices.

But your heart is pounding.

Out of control...

Each time ready to jump out of your chest and launch yourself into the new destination designated by the last clue.

_Find him._

Actually, only you can consider them _clues._ They are random things that your obsessed brain processes in a completely irresponsible way, attributing them meanings and senses that go beyond logic and human understanding.

Each time, thinking it's the last one, _the right time_ , that you will finally find what your soul craves so much.

And each time, you find yourself empty-handed, with a bleeding heart but ready to try again.

And again.

_And again._

You take a look around. You still don't know why on earth you're here.

You've headed to this new city chasing a scent.

You shake your head... This time you have really done it.

You left the After-Party of the most famous fashion house on the planet, of which you are also proud testimonial, in the middle of the fashion week, only because the bouquet of a certain wine they served had hit you like a wrecking ball. It had turned on all of your cells... from the bottom of your soul.

You didn't even want to go to that event.

You don't like this kind of thing; it's usually Brother who takes care of public relations. But this was different, and not just because you are their commercial face and not him. Something had _pushed_ you to go there. The same way something had made you run away.

 _Find him_.

As soon as you found out where that wine, whose aroma had reduced you an emotional mush, obviously totally unnoticed by people, came from, you dropped everything... Without even waiting for your brother to find you the right cover, the right event, or at least the proper excuse to be in a new place in such a short time.

How funny, you don't even drink wine.

And so, you've arrived here, in this unknown yet beautiful city stretched between the blue of the sea and the green of the Mountain.

You found your schedule at the Hotel, the only thing you managed to book before leaving so suddenly.

You were expected to be in a _Literary Café_ in the historic center of the town.

Your poor, exasperated brother had accepted an old invitation for an interview about the harmony of traditional culture, multi-ethnicity, ancient history, and modern civilization seen through painting, literature, and music.

Why they wanted you, it wasn't clear.

The place was nice. Warm and welcoming. You wouldn't have complained anyway. It had been a real stroke of luck that your brother had dug out this invitation right in the city that you had suddenly decided to visit. _Needed_ to visit.

At the Café, a small photoset was arranged with bright lights, a corner interviews, and in the adjacent room, a small stage with the instruments ready and connected to the hall's audio system.

All around shelves and shelves filled with books... Not a single space was left empty. They had probably taken the _Literary Café_ thing very seriously.

You had absently read some titles. Recognizing at least eight different languages, including ideograms.

They hadn't any classification method... Art, history, philosophy, whatever... following one another on the shelves.

There were novels and old myths, sacred texts and scientific investigations, astronomy treaties and musical scores... all in the same spot.

A shiver had shaken your body when you thoughtlessly ran a finger over the worn ribs.

_Energy..._

However, what had caught your attention, enough to make you moving without even realizing it, had been a particular object half-hidden in the shadows.

An old zither rested on one of the low shelves of the library. Basically hidden from the sight of anyone who entered that room. Completely invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

Your feet had brought you there, in front of a beautiful ancient instrument that no one nowadays plays anymore.

Entirely out of instinct, you had placed your fingers on the polished wood, delicately... almost reverently.

You had plucked a random string... an E, and the instrument had responded.

The vibrato had resounded in the void of the room.

It was a C.

You were stunned looking at those strings that had responded to the sound without you touching them. You didn't have the strength to pull your hands away. The strings had vibrated again.

A, B.

And again. G, E.

"I didn't know you could play the _guqin_. Is there anything you can't do?" The voice had come behind you.

You had suddenly taken your hands away... your skin tingling.

Your body hid the instrument from view; of course, they thought you were playing it. But who had plucked the strings? Could it be that you had done something without realizing it? Maybe you thought about playing it, and then you really did it?

You still don't have an answer. You're no longer sure of anything. And right now, again, just like last night, something in your chest vibrates, writhes.

It hurts. As if something was struggling to come out.

 _Find him_.

And that melody... you know that melody.

♪ E... ♪ C, A, B, G, E... ♪

Deep down in your heart, you _know_ it.

You never really heard it anywhere, you never played it, but you know you know it. You could go on with it. ♪ A... ♪ B, C, D, G, A... ♪ As if you had written it yourself.

A vibration of the soul.

You don't remember very much about your evening. You only know that, somehow, you made it.

Somehow you hid that emotion, which overflowed, overcoming every barrier of consciousness, and left you with a throbbing heart and out of breath.

Not that anyone has noticed. You can be an utterly expressionless statue.

An _ice sculpture_ , they call you.

The truth is that what you feel is no one's business. For whom races your heart, neither. You already belong to someone. And said someone is the only one who will know how to free your plastered heart...

Layer by layer.

Only this _someone_ will ever be allowed to enter.

You are astride your bike, still standing here, and yet don't know precisely what the hell you are doing.

A black shadow passes by you. Your gaze is caught by the bright, almost fluorescent green of his luggage.

_Who on earth is buying a bag in that color?_

A little voice invites you not to criticize too much: it is the same color as the helmet you are wearing.

Oh well, maybe it's ok with the helmet.

_Really?_

You shake your head at these thoughts and try to find the way in for the temporary parking. And once again, you wonder why you're here. Your flight is scheduled tonight, while right now, it's just breakfast time.

You sigh. After what happened last night, you couldn't sleep a wink. Heart pounding in the chest and a certain melody echoing inside your head.

So you got up this morning, packed a few things in a small backpack, and left the Hotel on your motorbike.

Just two words to your shocked, but not too much, brother, to whom you have left the rest of your luggage, an endless series of meetings to reschedule, and even your beloved skateboard.

You have decided to travel light this time, not even you know exactly where you are going.

Just that little voice that whispers: _find him_.

Eventually, you managed to leave your motorbike in the right parking spot and secure your helmet in a locker. Then you head towards the entrance of the airport.

You always use the same locker combination; nevertheless, you send a text to your brother for when he comes to retrieve it.

You care about this green helmet. It's your favorite.

Obviously, since you have no checked baggage, no one is in line at the check-in counters.

You stop to look at the departure board, then you remember that you won't find your flight: it's too early.

You stay uncertain for a moment and take a look around.

You see again the black shadow you saw before. A long leather coat that touches the floor is climbing up the escalator that leads to security checks. You slightly narrow your eyes for a closer look. The green of the bag, hidden by the railing, is barely visible. Something else catches your eye, though. A blood-red ribbon falls from his raven hair styled in a half ponytail at the nape of the neck... It's a flash of fire that shines in contrast to all that black.

As if moved by something uncontrollable, you head for the escalator too.

When you put your first foot on the first step, the shadow is already out of your sight. Your heart beats faster; you don't understand why. But you hurry up on this hellish trap, which suddenly seems so damn slow.

You almost miss him at the security check. You are looking for a black, long-legged frock coat, not thinking that coats and jackets shall be taken off before screening.

Your eyes persistently wander among the few people in line. But it is that sound that suddenly makes your head snap in the right direction.

_Toc. Pause. Toc. Pause. Toc._

It's his pace.

Slow, steady... It's _him_. The black coat is back on a pair of broad shoulders; it picks up that horrible green duffel bag and enters the Duty-free gallery.

You lose precious moments at the security check. Remove your jacket, scarf, glasses, put your phone and watch in the tray. Take back the plastic bag with liquids that ended up at the bottom of the backpack...

_Can't you look through the monitors instead of letting me pull everything out of there?_

You want to scream at that officer; you want to get your hands on him. Instead, as usual, you are a mask of impassiveness.

Shoes make the metal detector ring. Go back, take your shoes off, go under the metal detector again. It still rings.

 _Fuck, the belt._ They must search you.

_Ok, hurry up instead of chatting with each other._

They want your boarding pass, but your boarding pass is on the phone, and the phone is under the scanner.

Your patience has reached the limit.

Your expression might be cold as usual, but if a gaze could kill... a certain official would have already died.

And his talkative sidekick, as well.

You are finally on the other side of the security check.

After wearing again shoes, belt, glasses, jacket, scarf, watch and mobile phone, after putting liquids, iPad and the diary in the backpack and even the eyeglasses sheath that had apparently a suspicious shape, you can finally run through the Duty-free direct to the waiting for boarding rooms.

You have passed through the entire Duty-free gallery, two bars, a retailer of typical products, a couple of high fashion boutiques, and a Japanese restaurant. And now you don't know what to do.

The signs indicate A and B areas on the lower floor and C area on the first floor.

You look over the whole space in front of you, nothing.

You lost him.

_Find him._

The loudspeaker announces a canceled flight. It's the third one since you've been here. You don't even wonder what will happen to your flight. Tonight seems so distant...

You stay at the board for a moment looking for some clues as to where to go. Suddenly behind you, _toc. Pause. Toc. Pause. Toc._ If possible, even slower than before.

You turn around following the sound of the heel beating on the polished marble. God bless the polished marble and the half-empty room that makes echoing this sound.

_C area._

The shadow is moving slowly towards the C area.

Maybe it's headed for the VIP lounge. _Well,_ you think, you have the lounge pass in your wallet... You can go there too.

The shadow stops. Motionless, as if suspended in time and space.

It seems on the fence. Stretches out a hand.

You don't make out the details of his hand from your vantage point, but somehow you know it's big and strong... long, tapered fingers, like those of a pianist.

And actually, there is a piano in front of him, just next to the entrance to the VIP lounge.

So it was there he was headed...

He is still standing. His hand passes like a soft caress on the shiny wood of the grand piano. Maybe he sketches a smile, but you're not sure; you're too far away to have a good view of his face.

He sits down, his knees bang on the wood; you didn't realize how tall he is.

You watch him lower the piano bench to the correct height to make room for his long legs. He pulls up his hair. Restyle the disheveled half-tail in the exact same style it had a moment ago, with that red ribbon that flashes like live fire in that sea of black.

You follow his movements as in slow motion. His hands rest lightly on the keys. You follow his actions as if you were not there.

♪ E ... ♪ C, A, B, G, E ... ♪

Those notes...

You're out of breath. You feel like you're an entity outside your own body.

You move.

Silently.

You go towards him. You can't help it.

You don't even have the perception of your own movement. You just see the piano coming closer. And, with it, your black shadow comes closer too.

Wait.

_Yours...?_

♪ A ... ♪ B, C, D, G, A ... ♪

You are behind him; you can see his reflection in the glass in front of him.

His eyes are closed... A slight frown between the eyebrows. He raises and lowers his shoulders as if he was having difficulty breathing... as if he was trying to contain his emotions.

You can't help but notice how beautiful he is... a bright face, a mouth that seems ready to give a smile.

 _Open your eyes_ , you think. _I need to see them._

And the wonderful thing is that he actually opens them, and, through the reflection in the glass, they are locked to yours.

You stopped breathing. Is that _him_...? No thoughts, mind empty... just a feeling of wholeness that you've never experienced before.

Is it really him?

Is this really the end of your search? Is this what you were looking for?

You look at the grand-piano. You are still trying to put together a thought that makes sense, and you do not realize that he has got up. You focus your gaze back on him.

You look at him, but you don't see him. Though you can see the depth of his wide eyes. A depth that you seem to know, you can drown in it.

You try to move some muscle; you feel the shadow of a smile that would like to escape the cage of your omnipresent composure. But you stay still.

And he slowly walks away.

You notice his movements a bit later. He is already showing his back.

_No._

This you cannot allow. Your whole life led you here.

You can't lose him like this.

Instinctively you reach out and grab his arm. A silent scream shakes your soul: _Stay_. Do not go.

The shadow stops.

Turns around.

A moment later, with his other hand, he grabs your wrist.

You think he wants to drive you out. After all, how do you allow yourself to grab people like that?

But he doesn't move. His eyes are chained to yours. His mouth is slightly open as if it was absorbing something from the Universe itself. As if some epiphany strikes him.

You feel your energy flowing towards him, inside him. Like something real, physical. As if you two were one.

Two halves finally joined together again.

And you probably really are, given the amount of energy that you are moving together.

Suddenly you no longer care to contain those emotions that you're are keeping locked away your whole life. You always knew you kept them for someone.

Someone special.

And apparently, you found it.

So that's what it feels like.

A sound makes its way inside you... an unknown yet familiar sound.

Like that music...

More than that music.

A sound you can't stop.

"Wei Ying"

You see his eyes widening. In surprise. In relief.

Two syllables.

A name.

_His name._

You found him.

You will never lose him again.


	3. 3. HIM (Not anymore)

**_8:45 AM Dìdi: Bike parked at B4 Locker 1907 Code 3617_ **

**_Luv u_ **

**_8:47 AM Brother: Ok. :)_ **

**_Take care. Luv u 2. <3_ **

****

**_10:25 AM Dìdi: Forget it all._ **

**_Can you get me a helmet?_ **

**_Better if black._ **

**_10:26 AM Brother: What's up? :o_ **

**_10:27 AM Brother: ... :/_ **

**_10:30 AM Brother: Hey_ **

**_10:33 AM Brother: Are u ok?_ **

**_10:38 AM Brother: WangJi!!!!_ **

****

****

****

****

He knew it would happen sooner or later. He always knew it.

He knew that, sooner or later, this continuous, meaningless running would have led him to something dreadful.

His younger brother, his _dìdi_...

What's happened to him?

_Can you get me a helmet?_

A _helmet_? Why another helmet? Has he had an accident?

He doesn't know what to think. His head is going to explode.

Angrily he throws the phone across the room. Damn useless thing!

WanJi doesn't answer.

He does not answer his calls.

It had never happened before.

Never.

Actually, nothing that had happened in the past thirty hours had ever happened before.

**_30 hours before._ **

XiChen remained at the After-Party alone: his brother, the guest of honor, suddenly jumped on his motorbike, walking away from everything and everyone, leaving him with only a vague address and a few hours to arrange something.

Just a few hours to try to make sense of this new destination where he suddenly launched himself and to inform the Board of the new plans as if they're not unexpected at all.

He tried to stop him. After all, they are at Fashion Week, and WangJi is one of the most loved testimonials. He tried, but his brother's eyes instantly told him not to even dare. From the start, XiChen knew that it would be useless; his brother was more determined than ever.

Something intense was _calling_ him. Another _clue_ , as he calls them all.

By now, he knows how it works: WangJi has a vision, a feeling, an idea, gives up everything, and leaves.

Who knows how they managed to find an invitation to a cultural center, no: a _Literary Café_ , so they call themselves. Actually, Baoshan Sanren, the group's chief editor, remembered it. And she offered to help him fix everything so they can both get there as soon as possible.

To her, and her only, XiChen had once confided his little brother's obsession, and she, oddly enough, didn't even flinch. As if she shared WangJi's thoughts, or, at least, fully understood them.

She's the only one he can rely on.

Together, they sent a detailed program straight to his Hotel. He'll find it when he gets there. Maybe tomorrow, late in the morning.

XiChen shakes his head. Eight hundred miles by motorbike. WangJi will drive all night...

He manages to reach the end of his evening, well... not _his_ actually, trying not to think about what can happen to a motorcycle running at full speed on urban routes.

His brother is a racer, a good one, but this is not a track. This is road and highway. This, it's real life.

**_13 hours before._ **

XiChen arrived at the Hotel late in the afternoon but still in time to catch a taxi and reach him at the end of his meeting at the _Literary Café_ while Sanren gets some deserved rest, and the staff took care of baggage and equipment.

However, he was not prepared for the devastated boy he found.

He curses himself for not being there... For not being with him when he, apparently, needed the most.

The rigid composure distinctive of his younger brother is still there, but he knows how to look under the surface. And he knows he's upset... more than ever.

The motorbike is parked in the Hotel garage. A car came to pick him up less than two hours ago, and now it is taking them both back.

_Thankfully._

He doesn't even want to think of his little brother driving that trap in such a state.

The way back to the Hotel is uncomfortably silent. XiChen lets him collect his thoughts; he knows WangJi will talk to him when he's ready.

No need to worry.

Maybe.

The countless compliments and thanks from the organizers at the _Literary Café_ say, at least, that the meeting went well.

Silence's still there when the two of them go up to the floor of their suite.

WangJi is already with his hand on the doorknob when XiChen gently takes his arm. -WangJi...-

He is anxious; he cannot hide it. A worried frown replaces his usual smiling.

The young man lowers his head but does not turn around. -Not now.- He opens the door and disappears into his room.

XiChen sighs.

He's his brother, his manager, his best friend, but apparently, he cannot comfort him. He's not even allowed to know what's tormenting him, let alone helping him.

He's always supported him, always indulged him, so much so that sometimes he wonders whether it is right or not, questioning himself if it wouldn't be best to take his _dìdi_ away from this nonsense that is eating him. Take him away from all this running, this search, this unsuccessful hunt.

Always in a rush...

Chasing... chasing what?

The _missing piece_ , so he calls it. The missing piece of his life, of his heart. Of his _soul_.

As if he's looking for his soulmate from whom he was torn away.

Yes, _torn away_. Because WangJi doesn't act like someone seeking something he hasn't found yet, he doesn't act like someone looking for somebody he's never met before. He acts like someone who knows _exactly_ what he is looking for. Something that he had and that was taken from him.

_Someone._

Someone he already knows.

Somehow.

Daunted, XiChen decides to go get something for dinner.

**_11 hours before._ **

He found WangJi in the bathtub.

That's bad.

If his brother is trying to find comfort in the water, then the matter is serious. That's really bad.

Water is his element. He relies on the water when he is alone, shot down, sad, injured. Or scared, like now.

Of all the emotions that only XiChen can catch a piece of, he sees that WangJi is _scared_. He seems to have gone back in time to that night when Uncle QiRen came to tell them about their mother.

That night, a long time ago...

His younger brother raises his face, looks at him. Water droplets run across his face. Or are they tears? XiChen can't say.

_Dìdi..._

He pulls him out of the bathtub and dries him; rubs his hair with a towel, as when he was a child.

-There is a piece of music...- WangJi, dejected, looks at him. -In my head...-

XiChen's hands stop, and he looks down at his face.

He continues: -Do you think I am going crazy?-

XiChen's heart squeezes, seeing him like this. He just wants his little brother, his dìdi, to be okay, to be happy.

-Many things in this world cannot be explained...-

-And apparently, they can't even be controlled.-

-What is that you can't control?-

He gets up. -There is that music...- Hardly he puts on a t-shirt and a pair of boxers. -In my head.-

-Yes, you already said that.-

-Tonight...-

-What?-

-There was a zither at that _Literary Café_.-

-A zither? Who plays the zither nowadays?-

-It was a guqin...-

-Oh...- _A guqin in this side of the world?_

-I barely touched it...-

XiChen patiently waits for the young man to collect his thoughts.

-The strings have vibrated. By themselves.-

-Meaning it was enough just to touch them? -

-No.-

His eyes are steady in his brother's. -That music...-

XiChen begins to get an idea of what may have happened.

-It played itself.-

Or what WangJi _assume_ s has happened.

-You do not believe me, do you?-

-I trust you.-

Not another word.

XiChen helps him to bed. Just like that night, he pulls the covers up and reluctantly leaves his room.

**_3 hours before._ **

He spent the night on the sofa. Maybe to stay closer to him somehow. Feeling powerless against this battle that his young and stubborn brother is fighting all alone.

And thank goodness he was there. Or he wouldn't have met him when he showed up at dawn with his helmet under his arm, determined to run into the unknown at least one last time.

XiChen knows that his brother hasn't slept; he himself didn't sleep a wink last night and has heard him move, at times restless, at times resigned.

WangJi has a backpack on his shoulders and looks at him a little shy. -I left basically everything.-

-I'll handle that. Are you okay?-

Pause. -No.-

-WangJi... Do you want to talk about it?-

He turns around. -I have to go.-

-Where? I'll take you there. Where are you going? -

-Airport.-

Instinctively XiChen looks at the watch; it is only 7:50 AM, their flight is scheduled for 9:00 PM.

When he looks up, his brother is gone.

***

_Code 3617._

WangJi always uses the same numbers as a combination of the lockers. 3617, a prime number, but perhaps there's more than that.

_1907._

There is something important in these numbers, something XiChen doesn't catch.

Suddenly that thought again. XiChen would like to do more; he'd like to _be_ more.

His brother is all he has. He has to protect him. He has to take care of him.

 _Take care_ , he answers the text.

XiChen sighs, disconsolate. He might as well start preparing for the return trip.

This time they're going back home.

_Home._

Unless last-minute upheavals... Unless some changes, he doesn't know if he wants to endorse anymore.

He has canceled almost all the events for the next six weeks, and the new movie won't start shooting until next summer. Perhaps he will be able to convince WangJi to take a rest.

Maybe his obsession will give him a break.

At least that.

Mid-morning. Almost everything is ready.

The phone vibrates.

_Forget it all._

What does it mean?

XiChen calls him, he doesn't answer.

He calls him again. The call goes straight to the voicemail.

He knows it's useless to leave a message there. WangJi never listens to them. Usually, XiChen is the one who reaches his voicemail.

His heart is racing fast; he calls the reception. He needs a helmet.

_Why black?_

And he needs a car to go to the airport.

Down in the hall, he runs into Sanren, almost as if she was waiting for him; _how strange..._

He briefly informs her that he is going to WangJi and he needs a helmet.

She doesn't ask questions. She always appears quite at ease amid the oddities of his little brother. But this time, her face lights up. -Wait here.-

She flies up the stairs and returns shortly with a black felt bag.

There is a brand new helmet inside.

Full-face.

And black. With two red bands that run on the sides.

XiChen doesn't hide his relief, but perhaps his bewilderment is evident because she hurries to explain: -I had it in store for his birthday.-

_Which was more than a month ago..._

He takes it anyway, grateful that at least one problem is solved, not wanting to investigate further. Not now, at least. These are just... Coincidences?

_Yeah, coincidences..._

With a wave of his hand, he greets a Sanren more smiling than one might expect, given the circumstances, and runs outside, where the car is already waiting for him.

He takes the keys from the valet, gets in the car, and leaves.

A thousand thoughts crowded his mind, images that overlap without him being able to control them. And the concern for his younger brother runs chills down his spine.

He arrives at the airport, takes the reserved lane to the drop-off, and suddenly comes to a screeching halt.

In front of him, four policemen are escorting two people out. They look at him, who risked to kill at least three people and to injure a dozen.

Luckily there aren't many people around. Maybe it's because of all those canceled flights...

XiChen recognizes his clothes before his face. With his hands still clenched on the wheel, he takes a moment to watch closely the black shadow who's holding his brother's hand.

_Holding hands...?_

There is something familiar about him, or maybe it's just the reflection of his dìdi in his eyes.

Who the hell is this? And why are they escorted by cops?

What did WangJi get into? It's not like him to cause this kind of a mess.

XiChen leaves the car in the parking lane and approaches. Looks at his face and...

He finds it hard to breathe.

His brother, perhaps for the first time since he can remember, is _smiling._

He smiles openly at the black shape next to him, who openly smiles back.

His brother.

Smiles.

A wide, open, genuine smile. Shining eyes reflecting the guy next to him.

The latter seems more accustomed to smiling, actually. It resembles the young artist who has recently been the target of a dreadful cyber-bullying case, escalated eventually in a real manhunt.

His eyes linger on their hands, fingers intertwined.

XiChen's speechless.

His brother usually avoids any form of physical touch.

_Usually..._

The cops greet them and let 'em go. And XiChen is increasingly confused.

Finally, he arrives in front of them.

WangJi waves his free hand towards him. -XiChen!-

The guy on his left smiles politely, but the question mark on XiChen's face is as big as the Mountain.

He can't bring himself to speak. He doesn't even say hello.

He just waits.

-Brother...- WangJi begins to talk, embarrassed; then, without warning, hugs him.

Or at least that would have been the idea.

Actually, he puts his right arm around his brother's shoulders and squeezes hard. Awkward, clumsy... he's not accustomed to showing physical affection. All this is even harder because he does not let go of the guy's hand, who is forced to approach them too.

-Thanks, XiChen.- His voice is a little more than a whisper but full of emotion. XiChen has never felt him like that.

His eyes fill with tears. His dìdi is ok... More than ok.

He seems to be... happy.

He gives them the bag with the helmet, and WangJi opens it; turns to the guy next to him: -It's perfect.-

He smiles.

Again.

Then to XiChen: -Where did you find it?-

-Sanren gave it to me. She says it's your birthday present.

_A little bit late..._

The guy takes the shiny helmet, amazed, lingers on the red bands on its sides. It seems made for him actually, entirely in line with his black leather coat and that red ribbon hanging from his hair.

He looks up to XiChen. -Sanren? Baoshan Sanren?- He asks, astounded.

-Do you know her?-

-She is...- He thinks about it a little. -She's my...- He shakes his head. -Forget it.- He points to the helmet. -It's beautiful, thank you.-

He smiles. WangJi smiles too.

XiChen doesn't need to know anything more. The smile on his brother's face is the only thing that matters.

-Brother, we go home.-

There is something definitive in his way of saying it. XiChen turns to the guy. -Where is your home?-

He raises their entwined hands and brings them to his lips. -Right here.-

_Oh._

Everything is clear to him now.

Maybe.

-Are you going by motorbike?-

-Yes.- WangJi gives the boy a soft look.

-It's a long run.- Says XiChen.

-We have plenty of time.- WangJi mirrors the guy's gesture and kisses his fingers interlaced with his own.

-I'm not in a hurry.-

He looks firmly at his brother.

-Not anymore.-


	4. 4.1 HER (The right time)

****

****

****

_Fire._

_Hot and hungry and devouring._

_Flames that envelop entirely the black shadow who doesn't fight back. Who accepts his fate serenely._

_Lips stubbornly curved upward. Not even the flames can scorch the smile from his face._

_He's born to smile._

_In spite of everything._

Baoshan Sanren sips the smooth amber from her glass, once again chasing away the fire from her visions.

She doesn't like parties. She's never liked them, but no one needs to know that the Editor in Chief of the Country's most important Network doesn't actually like being around people.

Communicator, teacher, press officer... Public relations are her daily bread and butter, and yet... She wonders how she will survive until the end of the evening.

The taste of this wine tickles a remote corner of her consciousness. An ancient, unknown and yet strangely familiar taste. Something that takes her away.

So far away. In time, in space...

It's almost like... but no, it can't be... The _Emperor's Smil_ e is something that no longer exists, much less on this side of the world.

She hardly chases away another vision.

An ethereal and immaculate place. The smell of crisp, clean water in the air. Dawn breaking above a soft blanket of white clouds.

_Not now._

This is not the time or place. Baoshan Sanren can't think of _Gusu_ , can't think of _her_.

She casts her eyes around the room, searching for a distraction, something to keep her anchored to the here and now. She is not an Haute Couture enthusiast, but attending the After Party of the most famous fashion house on the planet is part of her duties.

The youngest Lan is the guest of honor, after all, the most sought after testimonial.

The most sought after, not the most _loved_.

It's not easy to love this shy and taciturn boy. It's not easy to see under all the ice he wears like armor. This is how many define him: _cold_. He has a big, warm heart inside, but only a very select few ever reach it... maybe two or three individuals in all the world.

She counts herself lucky to be among them. She, perhaps Lan WangJi's uncle, and Lan WangJi's elder brother, Lan XiChen.

Lan XiChen is precisely Lan WangJi's opposite. Open where WangJi is shuttered, generous of spirit where WangJi protects his heart, an ever-present welcoming smile on his face. Much of WangJi's success can be attributed to the fact that Lan XiChen is his agent.

Lan WangJi has many talents. A prodigy child and brilliant student, he also proved to be an excellent actor, singer, model, and even a skilled racer... but XiChen is the prism that refracts his light. He is his brother's amplifier, his voice, where WangJi's strength is XiChen's cornerstone.

Together, they can accomplish anything.

Brothers. Friends. Allies. Two sides of the same coin. Forged in the unique ideal of justice and righteousness that has given the House of Lan proper weight in the world.

The House Baoshan Sanren would once have given everything to destroy.

The glass is still half full when she forces herself to put it down. The fragrant bouquet is almost irresistible, but with it comes thoughts and memories, and she doesn't want to think, not about the past, not about the Lans. At least not about _those_ Lans.

She wanders with no particular direction, still seeking distraction, and finds herself back by the bar. She leans against it, surveying the rest of the soirée.

-Certainly, sir.- The bartender tells someone nearby. -It is produced at the foot of the Mountain, in the south of the Country.-

 _At the foot of the Mountain_.

Xiao XingChen's latest report came from the City at the foot of the Mountain. That's where they attacked the Kid.

-They still use the same techniques imported from ancient China a thousand years ago.- The waiter continues. -There was a wine, well more of a liqueur I would say, very famous in the Gusu region...-

Sanren's heart stops.

_Gusu..._

She glances over, curious as to who might be asking questions, and isn't particularly surprised.

_WangJi._

She should have known. Who else could want to ask about this damn wine?

There are things that souls don't forget.

-You're not usually interested in wine.- She says.

Lan WangJi doesn't drink. Ever. Why is he asking about the wine?

-I have to go. Sorry, Sanren.-

She sighs. She won't dissuade him, but she tries anyway. -It's your party, where do you think you're going?-

Lan WangJi's gaze is intense, deep, asking her to understand.

Most people shy away from him when he's like this. They cannot comprehend how someone so young could have eyes so cold.

-Where my soul wants me to be.-

Not another word.

 _One more clue_ , she thinks, _one more time._

Sanren turns to scan the room for a pair of eyes that immediately meet hers.

Lan XiChen's face is drawn. She sees anxiety, worry, and... fatigue, perhaps. It is not easy to keep up with WangJi's sudden changes of course.

He is leaving.

By motorbike.

In the middle of the night.

Maybe it's time to do something. Maybe the time has come.

_Souls know._


	5. 4.2 HER (The right time)

****

****

****

**_8:45 PM Boss Sanren_ ** _: -Are you still there?-_

 **_8:45 PM Stardust_ ** _: -Yep.-_

 **_8:45 PM Boss Sanren_ ** _: -The Kid?-_

 **_8:46 PM Stardust_ ** _: -Barricaded himself in the Hotel.-_

_-He's safe.-_

_-We're in the van. On stakeout.-_

**_8:47 PM Boss Sanren_** _: -_ I need _a full report on my laptop ASAP.-_

 **_8:47 PM Stardust_ ** _: -A full report, boss?-_

_-What happened to "You're just reporters don't play Sherlock Holmes?"-_

**_8:48 PM Stardust_ ** _: -Boss?-_

_-Sanren?-_

**_8:49 PM Stardust_ ** _: -Ok.-_

_-Got it.-_

_-Consider it done.-_

_-On its way.-_

**_8:49 PM Boss Sanren_ ** _: -Book a suite under the name Lan and rooms for the Lan XiChen's personal staff and me._

 **_8:49 PM Stardust_ ** _: -Anything I should know?-_

 **_8:58 PM Boss Sanren_ ** _: -At the right time.-_

 **_8:58 PM Stardust_ ** _: -Ok.-_

Sanren ends the thread and checks the email once more.

The Golden Core.

They are excited, blah blah...

Everything as expected.

She grins.

_Good._

-How do we get out of this now?- XiChen scrubs a hand over his face, looks weary. -What the heck is it this time? Eight hundred miles from here and in the middle of the night. He said he needed to go. That it was crucial for him.- He closes his eyes and sighs.

- _Crucial._ Like that concert on the ship when we had to put him on the deck with the helicopter. Like the race in the middle of the desert, right? All to follow a clue.

A _clue_.- He repeats, sounding somewhere between desperate and forlorn. -His clues always lead to another clue. And then to another one.-

Sanren watches the young CEO's shoulders bend under the weight of the trying to keep up with his brother's seemingly unending search. His eyes meet hers. -What do I tell the Council? Uncle will be furious. There's so much international press here tonight. How can I justify it?-

-You don't have to.-

-Sanren, will he ever find what he's looking for? Will this ever end?-

She lays a hand on his shoulder and squeezes in sympathy. -I found us a gig there. It should even make the _old man_ happy. There is a famous Cultural Center in the City at the foot of the Mountain called _The Golden Core_. They've been writing to our office for months trying to book WangJi for their project.-

-I remember that. They're doing that East to West cultural thing, right? Bridging the gap with music and art?-

She nods. -I told them Lan WangJi would be available tomorrow in the late afternoon. They were very excited. Their press office has already agreed to make a statement about how noble and generous the Lan family's young scion is, who even left the After Party in his honor, in the middle of fashion week, to be present at their most important cultural event of the season. How he is a proud spokesperson of the ancient culture of his people.-

-But how...-

Sanren shrugs. -They said they were honored that finally, a descendant of Lan An has accepted the meeting.-

-I ...- XiChen is out of breath. And Sanren continues: -There is a suite in your name available from dawn and rooms for me and two of yours.

-You?-

-I'll come with you.-

-I can't ask you.-

-You didn't.-

A smile finally reappears on Xichen's exhausted face. - _The Literary Café._ How did you remember it?-

-I am old, not senile...-

-You said it wasn't the right time.-

-Maybe it is now.-

Sanren's cryptic smile is the last thing XiChen sees before she turns and leaves the room.


	6. 4.3 HER (The right time)

_The young man is hurt and tried by the long journey._

_They set his house on fire. He is here to try to secure the knowledge of his Sect. Or at least part of it._

_He has several books with him, medical treatizes, military strategy, literature, music, and poetry._

_Some of them he personally snatched from the flames who tried to take them away._

_There are clearly visible traces on him of the battle he had to endure. His once immaculate clothes are burnt in several places, worn out by travel and fatigue. The ribbon on his forehead is stained and wrinkled; his long black hair is disheveled and dirty._

_However, this does not stop his face from smiling gratefully at the monk who's welcoming him at the foot of the Mountain._

_-Do not fear Lan XiCh... Sect Leader Lan.- The monk bows formally. -We will take extreme care of them._

The laptop buzzer rips Baoshan Sanren out of her vision; her men's report is here.

_"Foiled attack on Kid at 5:03 PM._

_Armed commando disguised as supporters raided theater during rehearsal event tonight._

_The event officially canceled at 7:00 PM._

_Kid escorted to Hotel at 7:50 PM._

_Booked first flight tomorrow at 7:13 AM._

_The Kid never left the suite._

_Waiting for instructions._

_Song Lan. "_

Attached two photos.

In the first one, there is a black van built by Wen, _what a coincidence..._ Three men with their faces covered are on board. In the other one, there is a black cloak up to the feet. The eternal smile of a guy who, apparently, attracts trouble like a magnet is emerging from it.

That Kid is too good for this world. Always ready to take sides in defense of the weak, against injustices, regardless of the consequences. Always in the front row, with his head held high.

His stubbornness will always get him in trouble.

But that's the way he is, like his mother. On the side of the righteous. Until the end. No regrets. Whatever it takes.

And it really took from her a lot.

_Cangse Sanren._

She hasn't thought of her for years now.

Her best disciple. Her most promising researcher.

She sees her eternally smiling face in her mind. Always ready to see the good in people.

Choosing her over Lan Qiren in the directorate of the new department had been the right choice.

Despite everything.

At first, she just wanted to punish the Lans for what they had done to Lan Yi.

Lan Yi was the first granddaughter of Lan An, designated by her grandfather himself as his empire's heir. And she was more than capable of managing the House as well as running both the Company and the Education Center.

But she was a woman. And many people turned up their noses.

When the Wen Center published _the_ research in the most prestigious scientific journal, which had cost the Lan Center years of study and an immeasurable amount of resources, Lan Yi was accused of negligence.

 _Because she is a woman_ , went untold between the lines.

The Council had already expressed concern that the digitization she promoted was dangerous. The database was too vulnerable without real padlocks and solid bolts to protect it.

The Wens had stolen the files, obviously, but no one could prove it.

Lan Yi was furious. Blinded by vengeance and anxious to prove herself, she had developed a revolutionary computer program, a small thing that could fit on a small punch card, in a time when only one computer occupied a whole room.

If not correctly uninstalled, the program replicated its code indefinitely, occupying all the machine's memory, making it useless.

Baoshan Sanren had warned her that it could become dangerous. _Very dangerous_.

The _killer program_ could go unnoticed on any computer, even remotely.

It could spread unchecked like a virus. And it could backfire on the Lans themselves.

She had begged her not to install such a threat into the Center's computer core.

But she wanted revenge; she wanted to defeat the Wens. She didn't want them to get away with it. They had stolen the work of years of Lans' research. And she was the head of the Company. She ran the Center.

She simply could not allow it.

And in fact, the Wen Center machines were hopelessly disabled by the program, but nothing could prevent the killer code from replicating itself uncontrolled elsewhere.

It was actually the first malware in history, born almost a decade before the much more famous _Creeper._

Realizing its power, she could only hide it from the world. But the Council asked her to account for it, and she was forced to admit that she had created something terrible, something that had to be suppressed.

The senior leaders did not like this. The Lans have always been the image of righteousness and fairness. No Lan would ever create something to harm. It doesn't matter whom.

The House dissociated from her and her work. Lan Yi was blamed for using shareholder resources for personal purposes.

The elders had not helped her.

The world had condemned her.

The Council had dismissed her. And she had withdrawn, defeated. Her code disappearing with her.

The Lans had disowened her.

And Sanren had lost her best friend, her brightest scientist, and a vital piece of her heart in one fell swoop.

When the Center merged with the University, and Sanren took over the new Research and Development department's heading, a very young LanQiren was among his best students. But he was a Lan, and she hadn't forgiven.

And so she had choosen Cangse Sanren over him.

In the end, it turned out to be the right choice. Lan Qiren could never equate her brightness. They were both incredibly experienced and qualified, but she had that genius twist that made the difference.

The department, under her leadership, had been thriving as never before.

The whole world witnessed this.

After all, perhaps even Qiren himself would have admitted it.

_Perhaps._

If he himself hadn't taken credit for it just a few years later.

Cangse Sanren had met a young literature teacher, Wei Changze. Within a few months, they fell in love, got married, and gave up everything to go all around the Country, starting an impressive process of literacy in the most disadvantaged areas.

And so, the leadership of the department had naturally shifted to Lan Qiren.

By then, Sanren had had enough.

She went away, founding her exclusive Communication Academy in the mountains.

She didn't want to have anything to do with the Lans anymore. Not the Company, not the Network, not the Research and Development department.

Nothing more.

She stayed in touch with the Weis. Letters from every corner of the continent updated her on their progress, sometimes asking for advice on new projects, sometimes bringing joyful news.... Like their baby on the way.

They asked her to be his Godmother, and she happily agreed.

She had felt honored and proud in holding that impertinent little bundle who attracted everyone's attention with his dazzling smile.

His mother's smile.

The smile he has never lost. Not even now.

Not even after losing both his parents, not even after being targeted by those who had already destroyed his parents' work.

Not even when the media attacks on his person became real, it seems.

Sanren looks again at the picture in front of her. That smile is still there. Although the boy's face is tired, exhausted.

The coat he wears helps to make everything darker... an eerie black shadow.

 _Where on earth did he ever get that coat?_ He looks like Neo's double...

A red something dances, like fire, in his hair. It looks like Sanren's ribbon, but she lost it in the desert a long time ago. In that remote place where WangJi had ridden in an off-circuit Moto Gp race.

She zooms into the photo; Song Lan always sends very high-resolution pictures saying it's the small details that can make the difference.

Indeed.

No doubt, that's her ribbon.

Hers.

In the Kid's hair.

She lost it, and he found it.

In the middle of nowhere.

_Souls seek each other._

Sanren drops onto her uncomfortable chair. They really crossed paths.

Maybe even several times.

She had noticed his smiling face on the billboards that day. It was his, the face of the energy drink that sponsored the competition WangJi had easily won. But she never would have thought that the Kid was also there in person.

They had crossed paths without meeting.

Not she and the Kid. Well, yes, but... That's not the point.

WangJi and the Kid...

Had crossed paths...

In the middle of nowhere.

_Souls chase each other._

Photos don't lie. They can't.

In this photo, there is also a bright green light next to the Kid. It takes a while before she realizes that it is only the reflection of the headlights on a horrible travel bag at his feet.

Her heart tightens. In that briefcase, cheap and ugly, she knows there is the Kid's entire life.

He is a guy who travels light. Always ready to start over.

She can picture the content: a change of clothes, maybe two. A laptop, probably out of memory. His sketchbooks and some pencils. The tablet, where he saved all his books and music, and that diary he has been carrying around for years. A leather cover diary to write down the important thoughts, as he calls them. A habit he had taken up in the Academy and never lost.

_The important thoughts._

The clues...

Coincidences?

_Yeah... Coincidences._

She gently brushes the laptop screen with a finger. Strokes that face she now only sees in the pictures that her reporters Xiao XingChen and Song Lan take around the world.

 _Go home_ , she thinks, _it's time._


	7. 4.4 HER (The right time)

_The water is still. The surface is a mirror that reflects the very clear-blue of the sky._

_The white robes of the young master, on the other hand, move gently, as if a light breeze were waving them. They dance on the water while he cross-legged plays his zither._

_His eyes are closed, his expression solemn._

_It's a beauty that takes your breath away. It looks like a statue of pure jade._

_Not a hair is out of place. The ribbon on the forehead is immaculate._

_The nimble fingers move on the strings without hesitation._

_But while he plays, the landscape around him freezes._

_The crystals advance towards him relentlessly. They wrap everything up._

_They swallow everything._

_It's White Death._

Baoshan Sanren no longer wonders what these visions mean. Curiously she wonders whether fire or ice is more powerful.

Fire in its unpredictable disruption, or ice with its solid strength?

A knock on the door takes her away from her thoughts. Slowly she gets up; only one person can knock on her door at this hour.

-XiChen. Come in.-

-Transportation is in turmoil. I arranged for Uncle to fly back by the Company jet. The team will travel with him; only my personal staff stays with me. I asked for a car ready for us tomorrow morning at seven.

-I'll be ready.-

-Sanren... you don't have to do that.

-I know.-

If Lan XiChen wonders once again why Baoshan Sanren is so comfortable with his younger brother's quirks, he doesn't show it.

He smiles at her gratefully. -Good night, Sanren. See you tomorrow.-

-Try to rest, XiChen.-

-I'll try.-

Sanren closes the door behind him and packs his suitcase. On top of it all, a black felt bag.

She's been carrying it for weeks.

It was the strangest shopping impulse of her life. At first, she thought of it as Lan WangJi's birthday present, but then something stopped her from giving it to him. It didn't seem like the right time.

In more than a month now, the right moment has not yet come.

_Not yet._


	8. 4.5 HER (The right time)

**_4 45 AM Misty Man_ ** _-Kid booked a cab to Airport.-_

_-Xiao XingChen on his heels.-_

**_5:12 AM Stardust_ ** _-Flight delayed.-_

_-Something's wrong. Will stay here.-_

**_6:38 AM Stardust_ ** _-Canceled all direct flights to and from China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan.-_

**_6:56 AM Stardust_ ** _-Only way back tomorrow 12.05 via Seul.-_

**_7:19 AM Misty Man -_ ** _Kid back in Hotel.-_

_-Nobody followed.-_

**_Pic Attached_ **

Sanren looks at the pic. The Matrix-style coat is still there. There is still the red ribbon, _her red ribbon_ , and the horrifying bright green bag is radiating beams of emerald light as the sun shines.

She shakes her head. _Stay low profile, huh?_ That Kid will never change.

Nostalgia hits her.

She hasn't seen him in person since his graduation. So proud of his degree in Visual Communication that he wanted to open his own graphic design studio.

And he did.

It had been tough for Sanren at first. She didn't want to lose him too. The Kid was the last piece of a part of her life she struggled to break away from, the last link to a past she did not want to let go of.

Perhaps that was why she had put his best action reporters on his heels. And since then, his face had only appeared to her through the photos taken by Son Lang and Xiao XingChen.

Xiao XingChen was her best disciple in Academy and became quick a brilliant lecturer. Then he had expressed his intention to resign from teaching to carry out real work as an investigative journalist in the field with Song Lan, the best photojournalist ever known.

Sanren had agreed as long as they remained in the boy's area of action.

If it were troubles they were looking for, they would definitely find them.

The Kid had a particular propensity for _disasters._

But he worked hard. He _works_ hard.

He is tireless and brilliant. He had designed the best advertising campaigns of recent times until he himself has become the face of the best-known companies.

Good-looking, he knew how to move; he could dance and sing. From commercials, he is slowly climbing into a new career.

Known all over the Country, someone was starting to cast him as the leading actor in independent productions.

The popularity he gained had given him weight in society. And when Yiling's Educational and Rehabilitation Center for Disadvantaged Children was threatened, he openly took a stand.

The owners of the land where the Center stood wanted to build a showroom for luxury cars in its place. That the Country's largest luxury car manufacturers were the Wens was, of course, a mere coincidence...

The Kid had put his face on it.

On the front line.

He believed in that Center, not only because his parents had founded it but also because he knew the people who were taking care of it. He valued them and their work and had helped them as much as he could. With his money, with his work, with his time.

Things got out of control pretty quickly.

A media campaign against him had spread out of nowhere, blaming him for taking away space from the Country's production companies for the benefit of a handful of kids with no past and no future.

_Parasites._

Spreading around pictures of him and a little boy always close to him in the Centre, people began to speculate on his real motivations.

Someone was even clamoring for the cancellation of advertising contracts with the most influential brands.

Sanren herself had taken the field.

Her journalists, bloggers, and the influencers on her circuit had worked hard to spread the truth on the Net where certain media supported defamation.

They seemed to have calmed down, but then the threats, from virtual, became real. Yesterday's attack was nothing but a confirmation of the new trail of events.

But he is still there. Untamed and untameable.

The hint of a smile blooms on her lips.

_You have to go home, kiddo. Go home._

-Did you say something?-

Lan XiChen's warm voice brings her back to the present.

-No, I was just lost in thought...-

-Take it easy. It will be a long journey. We will not arrive before this evening.

The SUV is large and comfortable, and LXC's driving is stable and safe. She sits beside him, his men in the back seat.

Yes. It will be a long journey.

And the Kid will be still there...


	9. 4.6 HER (The right time)

_It's cold in the cave._

_A guqin is precisely in the Center of the dimly lit space between the rock._

_The air is still, surreal._

_The strings' vibrato, not touched by a living soul, invades the spaces and crosses them. Traveling through time and space._

_Like the waves created by a stone thrown into a pond, it spreads relentlessly._

_Another string vibrates in the distance._

_It is a piano. An old grand piano. The polished mahogany, the white keys..._

_No._

_This is a memory._

_Maybe._

_There is a boy._

_A little brat struggles with his piano lessons._

_Suddenly his little hands run over the keyboard. And a smile lights up his little face._

_Those notes..._

_The sound is different._

_The instruments are different._

_Time is different._

_But the melody..._

_The melody is the same._

They arrive in the City at the foot of the Mountain in the late afternoon.

The atmosphere is dense.

There is energy all around.

A lot.

They are all here... she, the Kid, Song Lan, Xiao XingChen, and Lan WangJi.

It had never happened before.

The sun has now set, but there is still time for XiChen to join his younger brother at the conference. It is only late in the evening, however, that Sanren hears them coming back.

The rooms are close enough, and his ear is sensitive.

The tones and movements she perceives tell her that something has happened.

This was to be expected. Electricity is in the air.

Someone is in the corridor.

Intrigued, Sanren looks through the peephole: it's XiChen. He closes the door and leans against the jamb. And sighs.

Sanren has never seen him like this.

She remembers the first time she met him.

The Lan International Inc. was interested in her new e-learning platform. She went to their headquarters expecting a frowning middle-aged man at the top of the Company. Lan Qiren had retired, and his successor was improving and modernizing the Network.

Knowing Qiren, he would not have given way to someone else lightly.

That's why she was not prepared for the smiling young man she had found in front of her.

He looked vaguely familiar.

This had caught her off guard.

She had gone there with the intent of declining any offer. She wanted them to beg her, then leaving them to their fate.

As they had done with Lan Yi.

But this young CEO was kind and knowledgeable. In a nutshell, he had made her understand that the Company's mission was indeed headed towards righteousness and honesty.

The Network would have spread truthful news and not bent to any power, the advertising campaigns would have been honest, and the productions aimed at cultural diffusion and not at a mere profit.

Free information. Advertising progress. Culture. Education. In the broadest meaning.

She accepted.

At the second meeting, set to define roles and skills, the young Lan had doubled himself.

A more severe and colder version of him had appeared at his side.

She had seen that face before.

In the ice.

In the water.

In the clouds.

He wore a light blue shirt like the crystalline water that forged him in her visions.

He was introduced to her as the younger brother of Lan XiChen, barely an adult, Lan WangJi.

He didn't care about the Company. He was a performer. It was the Company instead that cared about him. The eldest of the Lan was his agent, and she as editor-in-chief should have followed him too.

Any reserves she had melted like snow in the sun. A strange protective instinct towards this silent young man had taken possession of her.

And so she stayed, taking the editor-in-chief position as long as she was given enough time to run her Academy.

Lan XiChen had kindly pointed out that education could never conflict with information.

She remained, and this cold and solemn young man had carved his way to winning her affection.

In some ways, he was like Lan Yi. Smart and capable. Independent and respectful.

And that fire that burned inside him, that fire that no one could see... That obsession that took him around the world in search of his missing piece... Of his soul, of his heart...

That, she could understand.

She wasn't sure why, but she fully understood it.

He was looking for something.

_For someone._

She had seen that dedication before.

Sometimes it had brought devastation, sometimes, more rarely, happiness.

For a moment, Song Lan's face appears in her mind. Yes. It's that kind of determination.

Sometimes it pays off.


	10. 4.7 HER (The right time)

_Flames again. The Kid is enveloped in the incandescent tentacles that hold him back without escape._

_Something is different, though._

_A glacial calm, more dangerous than a storm, falls upon the flames. It exudes power._

_Calmness versus chaos._

_A shape of water moves towards the flames. These seem to fear it. They tremble, but they don't leave the guy._

_Watching the water shape approaching, he is not afraid of it._

_Instead, he smiles._

_As if he were waiting for it._

The first light of dawn filters through the curtains. There is a movement in the next room.

 _Lans..._ Nothing prevents them from being up at dawn... Not even a whole day or night of travel, a long and exhausting gala dinner, a debate meeting, and not even time zones.

Nothing.

She is awake by now; she might as well go and have a real cappuccino served down at the bar instead of the slop she could prepare herself in the room with a kettle and some instant coffee.

In the lobby, she runs into Lan WangJi. The young man bears the marks of a sleepless night. And as usual, he is a man of few words.

-I follow the crumbs, you know...-

He is already on the street when she whispers behind him: -Go, boy. _Find him_.-

_Crumbs._

What a strange choice of words...

As if a spiteful Tom Thumb was deliberately leaving him crumbs, signs, clues...

Clues.

It is a trail of light. Sanren can see it. A lighted path.

_Trail of light._

Wait.

Wasn't that the new project the Kid is working on?

She should ask Xiao XingChen for confirmation, but she is pretty sure.

 _Trail of light_. It is the light that shows the way.

She can't help but smile.

-Go, boy.- Whispers again. -Go.-

She is still there, lost in thoughts, a couple of hours later, after three cappuccinos and two brioches, when a shaken Lan XiChen bursts into the room.

He _breaks_ in.

Very no-Lan.

He's in a rush. His face a mask of concern.

He agitated demands the concierge to get his car ready and asks where he can find a helmet.

Sanren wonders why he is so worried: according to her calculations, the guys should be together at this time.

-A helmet, sir? Is a medium-size ok for you? -

XiChen asked for a _helmet._..

Of course!

The helmet...

How did she not think about it before?

She tries to calm XiChen as best she can and then orders: -Stay here.-

She flies, as far as her old legs allow, upstairs to her room.

The laptop open on the desk shows dozens of notifications, perhaps by Xiao XingCheng, but now is not the time. Or rather, it is just the _right_ time, but she has to find the helmet first.

She digs into her bag.

Damn, where did it go?

She takes out the black felt bag. _There it is._

There is a brand new shiny helmet in the bag: glossy black, two red stripes on the sides that look like two tongues of fire.

_Appropriate._

-The right time has come.- She whispers.

She tightens the strings of the bag and rushes down the stairs to a Lan XiChen in anxious expectation.

-How do you get ...-

-Oh, it's WangJi's birthday present.-

An imperceptible raise of XiChen's eyebrow reveals the hint of disbelief they both feel. Maybe they are thinking the same thing: _WangJi's birthday was more than a month ago..._

But he is in a hurry and runs away gratefully and relieved.

-Thank you. I owe you.-

Baoshan Sanren stares at the glass door behind which the young Lan has just disappeared.

An image is reflected in the glass.

It's not real; she knows by now. She tries to focus on the vision.

Water and fire.

_Together._

They collide; no, they _merge_.

Somehow they complement each other.

Water and fire.

Together.

Strong.

Powerful.

Inseparable and indestructible.

A thought catches her suddenly: _My time here is over._

She closes her eyes. Behind her closed eyelids, a smiling Lan Yi repeats: -Your time here is over. Come back home _, come back to me_.-

Sanren goes back to her room.

She sends the resignation letter and instructions to sort out her things. The notifications are still there.

It's Song Lan.

Attached there are seventeen photos.

The desert Airport.

The Kid on the escalators.

A black shadow with a tongue of fire peeking out through his hair.

WangJi at the security checkpoints.

The Kid, walking through the waiting area.

WangJi looking around for something he seems had lost trace of.

The Kid standing still in the Center of the C area.

WangJi, walking in the duty-free gallery.

The Kid at the piano. A bright green light at his feet.

WangJi behind the Kid.

Their reflections, in the glass of the VIP area.

Both the guys standing close together.

The Kid with one hand on Lan WangJi's wrist.

Two policemen running through the access.

The alarm light lighting everything in orange.

The two of them, being led to the exit by the policemen.

With the last photo, it comes a note signed by Xiao XingCheng: _The right time has come, what do you say?_

It shows the Kid and Lan WangJi hand in hand. Eyes locked and a genuine smile on their lips. The Kid's one is brighter, while WangJi's is more contained. But both sparkling in the mid-morning light.

In front of them a bewildered Lan XiChen in the act of handing them Sanren's helmet.

Once again, she found herself stroking the laptop screen.

_Go back to Gusu, guys._

_Together._

_Go home._

_It's the right time._

**_Fin_ **


	11. Appendix A

**_Chronicles of the City at the foot of the Mountain._ **

_False alarm at the Airport in the City at the foot of the Mountain, where a suitcase, left unattended in the waiting area, triggered the anti-terrorism security alarm._

_The bomb squads called to defuse a horrifying emerald green bag were seen peacefully approached by two guys who candidly admitted that the bag was theirs and that they hadn't noticed the commotion. (Probably too busy lovingly chatting with each other. - Author's note)_

_Famous Freelance reporter Xiao XingCheng was on site for a report on transports disorders and vouched for the guys escorted out by law enforcement._

_They got away with a lecture and an invitation to throw out the bag, too ugly for two handsome guys like them._


	12. Appendix B

**_3:17 PM Old Twin Jade -_ ** _Sanren! Where are you?-_

_-I won't accept your resignation.-_

_-Have you heard me?-_

**_3:19_ ** _**PM Baoshan Sanren** -It's a text XiChen, how can I hear you?-_

**_3:19_ ** _**PM Old Twin Jade** -Don't play dumb.-_

**_3:22_ ** _**PM Baoshan Sanren** -I'm not.-_

**_3:22_ ** _**PM** **Old Twin Jade** -Sanren... That guy...-_

**_3:22_ ** _**PM** **Baoshan Sanren** -Yes?-_

**_3:22_ ** _**PM Old Twin Jade** -Do you know him, don't you?-_

**_3: 25_ ** _**PM** **Baoshan Sanren** -Yes. I know him.-_

**_3:25_ ** _**PM Old Twin Jade** -He's the young performer who was cyberbullied a short ago?-_

**_3:25_ ** _**PM** **Baoshan Sanren** -Yes, he is.-_

**_3:26_ ** _**PM** **Old Twin Jade** -There it was something about the Yiling Center, am I right?-_

**_3:28_ ** _**PM** **Baoshan Sanren** -XiChen, why you ask?-_

**_3: 28 PM_ ** _**Old Twin Jade** -I want you at your desk Monday morning.-_

_-We will take over the Yiling's.-_

_-And take a stand against the Wens.-_

**_3:33_ ** _**PM** **Baoshan Sanren -** I'll be there.-_

**Author's Note:**

> Well.... so maybe this might not be the end after all... ;)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's come this far.  
> It has been a hell of a ride.
> 
> Thank you, Maggie; without you, I wouldn't have even started... 💘


End file.
